


Yet A Hand To Play

by El Staplador (elstaplador)



Category: Zenda Novels - Anthony Hope
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fantasizing, M/M, Obsession, Swords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22563799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elstaplador/pseuds/El%20Staplador
Summary: Five ways Rudolf Rassendyll and Rupert Hentzau don’t meet again, and one way they might
Relationships: Rudolf Rassendyll/Rupert of Hentzau
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Yet A Hand To Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ConvenientAlias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/gifts).



> You can read +1 as a nod to _Rupert of Hentzau_ if you like, but it's not exactly spoilery. All the 5 things are inspired by hints in _The Prisoner of Zenda_ , except Monte Carlo, which comes from a throwaway line near the opening of _Rupert of Hentzau_ about what Rupert's been up to.

**A small house in the country**

He has taken a house in the country, and there he loses himself now in memories of the past, now in premonitions of the future. This is not to say that he is a dreamer – or, if it is, his fancies have very practical applications.

The whippy spring of the foil, the wicked recoil of the gun, these are his trusty companions. Occasionally he practises with others; more often, alone. His sparring partners know him as a courteous but reserved man, who seems to take no satisfaction in a win, and whose every loss drives him harder.

Were any to point this out to him, he would brush it off with a forced laugh, and in private would apply himself still further. He had learned to fight as a soldier, but this – if it ever comes – will call for something more. It will ask his total commitment, his death or the other’s.

The other... a man who seems unlikely to come to him. Sheer arrogance, to tell himself that such a thoughtless young villain as Rupert Hentzau would go to the trouble of seeking him out. Still, sometimes Rudolf allows himself to indulge that possibility. What would he do, if the man he imagines in front of every target were to come strolling up the drive? How would it end?

He barely needs to ask himself. A squeeze of the trigger, a flash of the sword: he tells himself the man’s presence would be provocation enough, his crimes more than sufficient.

And yet... When Rudolf sleeps, he dreams of dark eyes and an insolent laugh.

  
**Monte Carlo**

Rupert Hentzau has made Ruritania too hot to hold him, and occasionally brings himself to regret this fact. More often, however, he doesn’t care. What is left in Ruritania to keep him entertained? Precious little.

The gaming tables of Nice and Monte Carlo have their attractions, and he isn’t too proud to accept the attentions – the extremely generous attentions – of the rich ladies, and some of the rich gentlemen, who frequent those places.

And if he keeps half an eye open for a red-haired Englishman, well, what’s that to anyone?

It seems more than half plausible that Rassendyll might turn up here, or somewhere like here, sooner or later. Hentzau doesn’t doubt that he’d rather be in Ruritania, and, failing that, surely he’d fall in with the endless stream of discontented young men who swirl around the fleshpots of Europe. And surely he’d be glad to reopen hostilities with an old enemy. They had unfinished business, and both of them knew it; business that might be resolved with pistol, or sword, or simply a hot mouth around a cock. Hentzau’s blood stirs at the thought of any of it.

* * *

But no one has heard of Rassendyll in months. He’s gone as quiet as La Mauban. And Hentzau has made it his business to know, if there is anything to be known. The longer he goes without finding a scent, the sharper that prickle grows. He hasn’t the temperament to examine the components of that prickle; if he did, he might find irritation, desire, and a certain resentment at being seen to avoid danger.

Sooner or later, he supposes, he’ll make his way to England.

And if in the meantime Hentzau plays high, with funds that perhaps aren’t strictly his own, well, nobody knows that he’d gladly play higher still, with the right player, and stake his soul (for what that’s worth) – and his body.

  
**London**

Lady Burlesdon, has never quite forgiven her brother-in-law for passing up the opportunity to accompany Sir Jacob Borrodaile to the court of Ruritania.

She has winkled him out of his country hermitage (ridiculous, for a man of his age to shut himself away like this!) and goaded him into showing his face at her ball (well, she had more than half-promised Hetty Trent that he would be there) and now she is keeping a wary eye on him as he slouches at the edge of the room, paying no attention either to Hetty’s Constance, or to any of the other young women.

No, _slouches_ is unfair. He still cuts a dashing figure. That makes it worse, almost.

On the other hand, _slouch_ is exactly the right word for the young man lolling against the wall over by the band. One of Sir Jacob’s protégés, she believes. Lady Burlesdon makes a note to find out more. He looks _dangerous_ , she thinks.

It seems that Rudolf thinks so, too, for he’s moving with more purpose than Rose has seen in him for years, crossing the ballroom floor with scant regard for the dancers.

He stops two feet away from the young Ruritanian, and says something in a low voice.

The other man laughs, delightedly, defiantly, and follows him outside, and Rose never asks what happens out there.

* * *

‘Well,’ Burlesdon says afterwards, ‘there’s precedent, at least.’

‘Precedent?’ Rose echoes. Whatever he means, it’s small comfort to her.

‘Precedent for a Ruritanian who thinks rather too much of himself to be sent packing by a Rassendyll.’ He laughs. ‘At any rate, Rudolf, you made a better showing than the fifth Earl.’

Rudolf frowns into his coffee cup and says nothing.

  
**Paris**

Paris is a city of courtesans and poets. Rupert Hentzau is neither, but he enjoys the company of both. The courtesans see through him. The poets don’t.

* * *

Rudolf Rassendyll has long since forgotten his Great-Uncle William’s maxim. Four-and-twenty hours is too long to spend in Paris; he’s sick of the kind of pleasures one finds there, and sicker still of the company.

* * *

Indeed, the encounter between the two of them at the Continental takes considerably less than four-and-twenty hours. And neither man can really say that it’s resolved to his satisfaction, since the other lives. Still...

  
**Dresden**

A routine is, by definition, predictable. A routine is a weakness. And Fritz von Tarlenheim’s annual visit to Dresden has not gone unnoticed. Why, the fool even takes the same train every year!

It would be so easy to arrange.

He could bribe the man at the desk to let him upstairs (better not, though; money is short), persuade the chambermaid to unlock the door...

Find Fritz von Tarlenheim, make himself comfortable in the discreet little sitting room the man always secures, and the rest is easy. A gun pointed at the pretty countess’s head to keep the pair of them quiet, and all he’ll have to do is wait. Rassendyll will come to him, and, if Hentzau knows his man (he does) he’ll be all too happy to remain there while the Tarlenheims make themselves scarce.

That fool of a count might try to do something gallant. Hentzau will shoot him if he does.

But he hopes not, because that would mean that Rassendyll, too, would be in a hurry, and he would like to take his time. He’d have him on his knees, at gunpoint, that red hair tousled, that brow sweating. He’d have him stripped, bent over the flimsy table, or perhaps stretched on that stolid sofa. There’d be blood, curses. _Revenge._

  
**Strelsau**

One day, perhaps one day quite soon, they will meet.

They will grapple with each other, bare-handed. Or it will be over as swiftly as the sear of a bullet. Or they will meet in the clash of sword against sword. Or it will be a different kind of encounter altogether.

One of them will win. And what winning will look like, neither of them really knows.


End file.
